


Five Kings

by taichara



Category: Yoroiden Samurai Troopers | Ronin Warriors
Genre: Alternate Universe, Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-24
Updated: 2013-11-24
Packaged: 2018-01-02 12:42:09
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 2,786
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1056886
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/taichara/pseuds/taichara
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A look at alternate paths -- and alternate endings -- for the Troopers and their dark counterparts.  </p><p>And no quarter was given.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Of the Destruction of Devils

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A final, fateful combat; time for Seiji to finish his personal exorcism.

In those last moments neither would yield.  
  
Pride goeth, and all that; and yet there was little of pride in the speed-blurred emerald shape that was Seiji, nor pushing the shimmering slashes of his great bright blade as he clashed against the dark demon general, the blood drops flying as they kicked up the dead earth of the underworld beneath their feet.  
  
Only two thoughts flickered through his mind, a grim purpose and a hard-won oath:  
  
The beast _would_ fall.  
  
Mocking laughter echoed from Anubis' throat, a beast in human shape armoured in shadowed rust, as the two mammoth blades scissored, tangled and a shower of sparks -- a brilliant gold, an endless black -- cascaded towards the ashen soil. And as both struggled to wrench his weapon free, the lord of Darkness leaned in and bared a sharp-toothed wicked grin into Seiji's very face.  
  
"I never expected you have the guts. You're too _afraid_.  
  
"Still trying to destroy Halo in your spare time?"  
  
Anger jolted down Seiji's spine like lightning; twisting free his blade, he called that self-same skyfire down, scoring the beast a hundred times. While Anubis was unbalanced, spitting curses and blood like rain, he weaved and charged his adversary before the echo of ebony bolts could strike him down in turn -- and this time the great blade struck true. One curving tusk of armour fell to the earth with the strange hollow thud of metal against bone, and in a heartbeat the demon general pivoted in a savage arc, sword high to cleave him through.  
  
Wrapped in a brilliant light to match his white-cold rage, Seiji danced aside, beat back the blade with three swift strikes, and twisted like a thunderbolt into the air to bring an armoured heel down with a shivering _crack_ on the dark weapon that had already licked ribbons into the jade-bright purity of his armour. The impact all but knocked the sword from Anubis' hands, and Seiji snarled.  
  
"I tore _that_ seed of darkness from me long ago.  
  
"Now I'll cut the source down at the root --"  
  
Matching his action to his words he struck again; but his blade met nothing but empty air. Flowing like inky shadow Anubis slipped past, slipped silent alongside the very sword-stroke as it whistled past. Setting his feet in the ashen earth, the dark general batted the shining sword away with a one-handed arc of his own darkened steel as he pivoted again, an oddly graceful motion; and with his other gauntlet raked claws of shadowed rust across eyes pale as the sky. Sharp fangs bared in victory as blood fell in flowers to the earth.  
  
Close, so very close. Close enough, indeed, to brush the bloody teardrops from the pale face twisted before him if he so chose. But the twin motions had left him wide open, unprotected, and his pride cost him the heartbeat of warning that was all Seiji required.  
  
Even as the blood-filled darkness rushed in on a wave of agony, he reversed his grip on his shining blade, called the light and the glory down --  
  
And punched the sharp-spiked hilt through shadow and blood to find the demon's hated heart.


	2. Of the Termination of Death

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shin acts to stop the cycle of misery regardless of what he must do, or what he must pay.

The dead earth sucked at his heels with every step, slime-riddled and sodden from the bracken-black fluid that passed for water, dead water, in this hell of spectres and demons. Sea-clear visor slipped into place, his mask sealing him away from the underworld's tainted touch ... and the sickly blood-rose miasma that surrounded Naaza.   
  
The demon general advanced slowly, step by gracious step, blades drawn and hollow-cheeked face betraying his unholy pleasure as the clinging venom spread. The living things of the water and the earth withered and fell to Naaza's poisonous spite; here in this half-world, surely the lord of Venom took the essence of the very souls held captive.  
  
Shin would stand for it no longer.   
  
That slaughter ended now, now and forever; no matter the cost, no matter what he must do.  
  
The twin blades lifted, slick and warningly damp; in heartbeats the serpent's sting would fly. A distraction was needed badly -- twisting in place with a spray of brackish liquid at his heels, Shin raked his own weapon's head through the lifeless muck in a wicked arc and swung savagely upwards. Pausing between beats, the poison lord hesitated as the clinging, blinding spray showered across armour of cinnabar and tainted jade only to find himself caught unprepared for the torrential rain of razor-sharp mist that hammered him to his knees, rinsed the venom from the air and thinned it to nothing in the underworld's own marshlands. Enraged, he spit a mouthful burning blood into the muck.  
  
"That was your last trick before I slide my blades inside your flesh --"  
  
His mouth set in a grim line, Shin did not deign to answer the angry hiss; drawing back, wet-clinging slicks of ash and mire marring the marine of his own armour, he raised his spear and set it against the charge he knew would come. And charge Naaza did, twin fangs flashing into six as he plunged through the pearly remnants of the mist and the muck of the water-margin to savage and defile.  
  
Shin did not so much as flinch.  
  
The blighted blades sang discordantly, scoring deep troughs through sea-wave armour and the bleeding flesh beneath, and yet still Shin did not retreat, a calm storm-fury in his eyes; now, now it would end. Silent still, he brought his broad-bladed spear up across his chest, a one-handed grip, one arm lashing swiftly outstretched --   
  
There was a snap of coiled springs, a scrape of armour against sword -- and one sword-fang shattered to fragments, entangled in a gauntlet of now-broken claws. Naaza spit a curse and recoiled three steps as bloody mist and pale burning tears coiled madly around the one remaining blade.  
  
"You little --"  
  
"You should have paid attention, Venom General ..."  
  
The words were quiet, almost a whisper, even as Naaza gathered his strength and charged again. The burning fang sliced through the slim spear shaft to bury itself in muscle and blood, grating against bone as Shin staggered forward, almost close enough for an embrace. Eyes locked on the demon general he forced closer still, lifting that self-same arm -- free now of its shattered gauntlet -- over his shoulder and back again in a swift and blinding arc.   
  
Before Naaza could withdraw his blade and back away he snapped his hand forward and a scale-sharp dagger buried itself hilt deep in the serpent's unprotected throat.   
  
Drowning in crimson, Naaza sank to his knees. Shin staggered back a single pace, bleak-eyed and grim, to watch the end.  
  
"I keep my own fangs hidden --"


	3. Of the Guardian Inviolate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shuu will not surrender to phantoms; not his mind, and not his chosen path.

Even within the monster's very lair the way was bitter, brittle and narrow; no more than shadowed flagstones beneath his feet and rough-masoned walls above, and the shimmering half-phantom archway that prickled with sickly power as if possessing a mocking heartbeat. No other thing save the rippling shadows, the wailing of unseen spectres and his own resolve.  
  
His friends, his fellow warriors, had charged further on, and this time -- this time -- there would be no chance for ambush from behind, no sudden pursuit of uncounted empty shells. Shuu planted his feet and stood his ground, Adamant as the desert-bright carapace he wore, and cast a stony gaze across his bleak surroundings. Beyond that arch lay no less than hell itself; and he would hold the line, watch their backs, keep the way clear or ...  
  
Wait. There. Deepward through the archway, a shimmer of sea-colour as if a mirage, and moving closer. With a quiet snort of disdain, Shuu shouldered the heavy iron halberd and strode with slow purpose closer, shouting to the bearer of the Water-Margin as he cleared the arch:  
  
"Why'd you come back?"  
  
"We're being overrun --"  
  
The heavy halberd shaft impacted armour-plate with the rush of an avalanche, as Shuu crushed the other clear off his feet in one swift shattering blow. A swing followed the first, aimed to more than maim -- but sea-blue blurred to the violet of a bruise and then to nothingness.   
  
Shuu swore once, and hotly, before erupting into raucous laughter.  
  
"You're _still_ trying that trick, Rajura? You think, you really think I'm falling for that _now_?"  
  
"And if, perhaps, my intent was not to beguile but to provoke?"  
  
The low and silken voice drifted from nowhere, everywhere; little else to be expected from the demon general. But first blood had been drawn, the droplets of scarlet a brilliant beacon against the shadowed stones, and Shuu settled himself into a glowering patience. Anger was a sure and relentless groundsurge his heart, and he sculpted it to his diamond-pure clarity of purpose.  
  
He would not be baited again. He would not fall.  
  
As if on a skittering of many legs unseen, Rajura's voice drifted ever closer. His words were silken still, insidious: Is that anger I see, Shuu of the Adamant? Are you losing control of that armour you bear, is it taking control of _you_? You're no better than I, in the end, isn't that so --?  
  
Shaking his head like a stubborn bull, Shuu sidled sidewise closer to one shadow-draped wall, weapon held as if to ward off an unseen blow; and the Phantom General laughed, a throaty, mocking sound. There was a brief flicker of bruise-violet, gone again like mist, and slowly -- as if drifting -- Shuu lowered the tip of the heavy iron halberd to the flagstones.  
  
"That's right, boy. Give in."  
  
A rasp of scissoring blades gave the only warning as the brace of spider sickles flew, buried themselves between the ochre plating of Shuu's unguarded back.  
  
That was all the direction he required.   
  
A flash of adamantine anger, a roar of righteous outrage -- he whirled, desert-storm-swift -- and the very stones answered the call of the crushing iron that struck, not the hidden phantom, but the shadowed wall itself. The ancient masonry shattered in waves under the impact of his fine-focused fury; and when the dust drifted on the phantom winds, bruise-violet splashed with scarlet lay still amidst the stone.


	4. Of Three Mercies Given

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Touma must realize that enlightenment is not without pain, and mercy can be cruel.

Before he'd crashed headlong trailing silver shockwaves through the ancient beams, the wood which was not wood, it had all seemed more an endless aching _nothing_ than any mockery of a great lord's keep. But here he found himself regardless, strange as it be -- first skimming swiftly across the darkness of the rooftiles, now aloft into a deeper darkness still, the dead void of the skies of hell itself.  
  
He needed the height -- and speed -- before the Demon could match his pace, needed the brief respite to weave his plans. Twisting in the battering black winds, Touma saw the demon general below and gaining quickly; nocking bright arrow to golden bow, he greeted him with a barrage of bolts of heaven's wrath only to see Shuten Doji break off his advance, race headlong along the twisted roofbeams of the donjon as Touma's arrows missed their mark, cratering the rooftop's lip.   
  
It was strategic folly to simply chase the Demon down quite yet, or so he thought, and Touma dipped low, a breath closer. Where did he hide himself away?   
  
Time for that change of plans. He'd had no intention to be skimming too closely to Shuten and that death-keen sickle he carried like a promise; but, to flush the quarry from his corner now --  
  
Sparing a breath of time to gather himself, Touma hung in the empty air still as the missing stars. And then the brilliant void of a celestial shockwave arced over the rooftops and tore the skies asunder. In that brief flash of starlight, an answering flash of blood-rust hair and stormy armour:  
  
"You are a fool, Stratos!"  
  
Between breaths came the scarlet strikes of hellbolts, the thunder of a thousand thousand chains to bind and tear -- and all for naught. Hanging imperishable as the heavens themselves was the demon general's would-be prey; and Touma, unmarred in the shimmering fastness of his shields, favoured Shuten with a cool-eyed gaze as the black iron chains slipped uselessly from the translucent sphere.  
  
Time.  
  
The last links fell free, the globe dispersed; and between one thought and the next Touma had swooped low to the shadowed gable-curves and fired, the arrow streaming starlight as it pierced the air and Shuten Doji's gauntlet both, forcing the sickle from a hand gone numb. A second shaft sped on the heels of the first, and then the Demon roared as he was pinned to the gargoyled roofpost. Disarm, disable, there was yet a chance ...  
  
Slowly, deliberately, Touma came to hang motionless a stone's throw away. Shuten spit curses real and imagined, tore at the arrow-shaft transfixing armour and shoulder both, fixed burning eyes on his would-be captor.  
  
"You _are_ a fool."  
  
"'Even devils have a place under Heaven's law'. You're human, Shuten, I saw that.   
"You don't have to do this."  
  
"Do you think I would escape this place alive, Stratos? Do you think that I would accept that traitor's stain?  
"You wish to 'free' me?"  
  
Hoarse bark, half laughter and half snarl; and the Demon tore at the weakening shaft, eyes like embers fixed on Touma.  
  
"Then do not give me the chance to tear out your wretched throat."  
  
One thought, one breath; and the great golden bow lifted.


	5. Of One Immovable

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ryo chooses his own fate, and the fate of the world.

He would not fail.  
  
Behind him, at his heels: the screaming tempest torn across the worlds themselves, a soulforged horror framing a city still as death.   
  
Before him, a breath away: the frozen rictus grin of the Demon King's hollow face, fangs bared and waiting as that great adversary once more stalked closer with intent to claim the living world and every soul within it.  
  
To every cardinal point, a hell-world of shreds and tatters: a withered empty shell devoured from within by its own lord and master.   
  
The thinnest of barriers, stronger than steel, lay between Arago and the green-growing world -- a wall of roaring scarlet flames, a maelstrom of burning blood and heart's-crimson armour, twin shining blades as yet unbroken ... and one eye, bright blue as star-fire, that promised an endless oblivion for the Demon King even as the second was dimmed with a blood-red tide. Bloodied, broken, but unbowed, Ryo stared down the shadow emperor with naked defiance.  
  
This was the end, the crux of all their battles, that stood before him armoured in souls and blackest iron, and it _would_ fall to Ryo's burning blades.   
  
Arago would _not_ win past him.  
  
In a silence that mocked the battle's first furious demands, Arago dismissed the feeble shades that clung to his shell to raise his great dead blade again -- the soul-tainted thing had bitten once, twice, three times and again into the brilliant crimson of Wildfire, staining the bright plates the darker scarlet of their bearer's blood. And yet Ryo refused to fall, refused to yield.  
  
Seeing the Demon King's intent, he laughed around the blood and pain; weaving his own blades in a wicked dance through the flickering fires, the one flame-blue eye ever on his adversary's sword.  
  
"I can see cracks in your armour, Arago!  
"We beat you down, and now I'll finish it. You aren't getting past me!"  
  
"You are weakening, bleeding, _mortal_."  
  
The dull depthless razor's edge swung slowly back for that final, killing blow --  
  
"You have nothing left with which to 'take me down' -- where are your flames, Wildfire? Have they abandoned you?"  
  
The mammoth sword came swift as death itself then in a low and sweeping arc to cleave Ryo in twain, to mow down this slip of an upstart stripling for all time -- and Ryo, watching, waiting, leapt skyward in a rain of life's-blood like perfect teardrops to land lightly as a dragonfly upon the great battle-blade.  
  
"Why don't I show you --?"  
  
The words came in a crimson mist, as his vision briefly dimmed; he had mere moments, a fluttering of a heartbeat before all chance was lost.   
  
But Ryo tensed and launched himself again, even as the Demon King drove his blade towards the ashen earth to crush him to the ground. A leap of faith this was, this time, and a clutching at the tips of the shattered soulforged halo of blades that sprouted from Arago's death-dark shoulders. A twist in mid-air, armoured feet tolling like great solemn bells on the shattered carapace, hooking in the tangled mass of death-white hair; Ryo stood astride the shoulders of a giant even as Arago reached to claw him from his perch.  
  
It was the end; and Ryo smiled.  
  
The twin blades flashed once, buried themselves hilt-deep into the shattered webwork of the Demon's King's battered plating as they burned with one final intensity --  
  
And all was fire, and blood.


End file.
